VIEW: United vs City (a). 1-0

As United fans, we have seemingly always had to endure that
element of unpredictability and genuine anguish in our pursuit of glory. Yes,
the glory has come in many, well, glorious forms, but it’s never been without a
fight and a hearty dose of drama along the way. So on that note,

if there was ever a quote to sum up the genius, wisdom and
sheer footballing knowledge of Sir Alex - the instigator of squeeky bum football - it was surely his profound analysis of
his greatest night at United. After beating Bayern ‘that’ night in the Nou
Camp, no better words could have been chose to summarise the chaos than,
‘Football. Bloody hell’.

That mantra has stuck with Ferguson’s
United in the proceeding years as we continue to succeed; time after time, era
after new era and in the face of new, seemingly perilous hurdle after hurdle. And
yesterday, after a tumultuous few weeks had seen us so typically ruled out of
the race, the famous quote surely ran through every red-tinted devil across the
globe as maybe, just maybe…

On an afternoon of such delirium, it's always easy to neglect the negatives. So just to maintain my objective nature, there are certainly still a couple of realistic, and totally unnecessary, pointers to make. In general, the game was crap, Rooney’s appearance in the side was
positive yet completely understated (although not half as bad as that twat from Argentina's) and at times we epitomised this term’s
United and our passive approach as we merely circulated the Citeh box without
coming close to getting a shot in. But, reverting right back to the delirium: who gives a shit?

City fans, and others who delight in flippantly waiving
off United’s success as ‘lucky’ will claim that a draw was a fair result; and United
fans will just as flippantly claim that we don’t give a fu*k what we deserved.
For the third time this season we have destroyed City’s resilience by
converting it into false hope; moments before the final whistle.

As only United know how to, we were made to endure the full
plethora of emotions – knowing that the inevitable 0-0 was far from enough to
keep us in the hunt for number 19 – until finally it was dually decided (in
this case, with precisely 17 seconds remaining) that our patience and suffering
was to be rewarded.

Perhaps not as satisfying nor as epic as Owen’s winner at Old Trafford, and
potentially not as meaningful as Rooney’s in the Carling Cup semi final; but as
long as we can win our remaining games, starting with our final ‘tricky on
paper’ tie against Spurs this weekend (who’ll probably, and very stupidly,
expect us to return the number of heroic favours they’ve handed us), then
strike number 101 could be the most important Premiership goal that the
legendary little fella has ever scored.

But Scholesey’s bonce and Evra’s beautiful left peg are of
course not the only things that have saved our season and made the run-in worth
caring about. Rose, Bale and N’Zogbia currently deserve a statue spot alongside the Holy
Trinity at OT; and as long as they let us turn them over next weekend, Tottenham are quite simply every United fans second favourite team.

This weekend was truly truly magical, but of course our work
is far from over (it’s probably worth remembering at this point that we’re not
even top). Still, few will disagree that the importance of those three results this weekend, and in turn the fact that we are now 5 points ahead of Arsenal and only 1 point off the top, can benefit only one team.

We have not made it easy for ourselves, I don't think we ever will, and only time will tell if my current state and general levels of excitement I have experience over this entire weekend (including dedicating most of my Sunday night to spilling my emotional, passionate aura onto this blog) has been for nothing. But the motivating and psychologically strengthening value enthused  by the madness of week 35 will certainly do for now. The image of Neville (above) and that 100% NOT gay kiss he slapped on the chops of his buddy will also very much do. That passion, that hunger and that drive is what we live for and what Sir Alex has instilled within his many sides (all of which have had Neville and Scholes at the core).  



17 seconds from time, 3 Wigan goals in the final 10 minutes and my homies in North London signing up with the Glazers and becoming our new sister club. The season is ending in the most Fergie way possible. And we wouldn't have it any other way. Football?...Bloody hell!